Hot Stuff

 

I made a stew.  I added 'some' Madras Curry Powder, 'some' Chilli Powder, and 'some' Turmeric powder, and a bit of coriander.   Now, even with lots of yoghurt upon it I canny eat it, it's so hot!   I'm on fire here!

 

Curry

Cook Yourself Thin

I have been listening to Mark Steels in Town tonight, a programme where he visits places and laughs at the people.  This edition finds him in Southall, once a boring a suburb in south west London, now known as 'Little India.'   Here masses of 'Asians,' have settled and filled the hall to here themselves ridiculed. This series is a good one, Steel visits many out of the way places and brings some attention to them.
It was the talk of curry that got me thinking.  In the days of long ago when I was a sweet, blonde haired, skinny child, yes that long ago, we had never heard of curry!  It may well be we in fact had, dad served two years in Poona so must have mentioned it, but we never ate it.  The diet, cooked by mum as we had little money, used a slot of corned beef, mince, spam fritters, home cooked chips, far too many sweets, potatoes and lots of salad stuff in summer.  Dads hobby was the garden and he grew a great deal of veg for us, his potatoes were indeed the best we ever had. Mum made potato soup that kept us alive, brilliant stuff, so good she was forced to continue making this until she died for the younger ones!  Sticks of rhubarb and a wee jar of sugar were used to keep us on the run, and fish came from the wee van that arrived from Port Seton regularly, fish straight from the North Sea!  The cat enjoyed this van more than anyone. Sadly an outbreak of Typhus in Aberdeen in the early sixties was traced back to Fray Bentos in Uruguay if I remember correctly, this resulted in a massive clean up back at base and corned beef, the 'bully beef' beloved of the troops, suddenly rose sharply in price and was soon out of our league.  

One day a new exciting foreign food was made available for us, 'Vesta Curry!' We took absurd delight in the arrival of such exotic foreign foods!  This was the early sixties remember!  We got excited by a lemon in those days, that was alien enough for us.  Only the 'best' shops had anything other than oranges and apples, bananas and grapes in those days, Edinburgh people would not see a 'pepper' on show until the Asians arrived in the 70's!  How we lived then, no wonder folks considered 'chips' to be 'salad!'  Today such foreign delights once found only in the shops frequented by the rich are daily obtained in Tesco's, where dates were once seen only at Christmas they lie, overpriced, next to mango's and yams.  Potatoes however take up much more space, rhubarb is found only in tins.  
The influx of immigrants has been so powerful that many probably believe that curry, Britain's favourite dish, was actually a home grown meal.  Not that I suspect the UK population to be that stupid in reality......hold on!  In the eighties I delivered around Southall with a typical English driver.  Long past any desire to work while retirement approached we drove slowly through the streets while he muttered about the immigrants.  I mentioned my mate was supposed to bring me down to Southall for a proper curry but the promise had not borne fruit so far.  
"Grnnn, I had an Indian once," he growled, "I was sick for days."  
"What did you have," I asked innocently.
"Chilli con carne," he said.
"Isn't that Mexican?" I ventured.
"Grnnnn it's all foreign muck," said he.

.

Friday Night

For most folk the week has ended, their hair has been 'let down,' entertainment found, or feet up on the couch and the nasty world told to 'shove off' from the door is the order of the day. This means bloggers searching for intellectual stimulation are left bereft as those who blog in such a fashion are at this very moment in time knocking back bucketfulls of cheap Chardonnay or filling their insides with the UK's favourite meal - curry! Friday night is therefore slow for the dregs of society who sit staring at a dark blank screen. The reason the screen is dark is that it has been switched off, habit however means blogperson sits and stares anyway - just in case.

Several things strike me here.

1) The importance blogs have in our lives. All around are shiny things to keep us amused. Television programmes on several channels churning out 'pap' of the lowest, mind sapping order, radio stations giving similar talk programmes debating with all the intellectual charm of a 'taxi driver' and a 'white van man,' the topic of the day, as well as a mountain of brainless women's magazines and so called newspapers to dull our sense of reality. Technology allows us to listen to programmes we have missed, allow us to play, repeatedly, the music that so annoys those around us,telephones where we can type in the words slowly rather than speak into the thing quickly and contact friends,and 'X-Boxes (whatever they are) where what is left of the gray matter can be dissolved by virtual gun play against aliens or bad boys. In spite of this we look for a blog to read. Does this mean we are getting old and can no longer care about games, or does it imply we need stimulation and the offerings of banality do not provide this? I find blogs of a wide variety and from a cross section of life do bring a new world to our door, but rarely on a Friday night!

c2) The rituals of drink. How come we are created with a mental capacity the size of a planet, (Pluto in the case of some nameless types from Arkansas), but find relief at the end of the week by drowning this great complicated machine in alcohol? Some indeed kill it off with various drugs, however this seems extreme to my little mind. With the known dangers of too much of the first and the unknown dangers (in spite of all the research) still of the second it would be thought a bit of wisdom could be applied here and a better way to recreate the washed out life could be discovered. Strange folks us people!

3)3) I read a man today informing all who would listen that when he is 60 he will leave the country. In his case several offered to help him go now but he declined their generosity. He wishes to find the sunshine and a cheaper lifestyle. He also wants out of a nation full of foreign Johnnies! So to avoid them he will go abroad! Spain,Cyprus, or somewhere in France, anywhere he can buy cheap beer, 'Fish & Chips' and the 'Daily Mail!'
Others of course have got used to the good things brought in from abroad and the Indian food craze has taken hold so well that 'curry,' or whatever is sold under that name, is now Britains national dish! However this is not without some hiccups,the UK love of this food and ignorance of its origin is shown in the curry dish called 'Balti.' Nowadays 'Balti' takeaways and restaurants are found nationwide but it was years before we realised the word 'Balti' meant 'Bucket!' The invention of a takeaway owner in Sheffield if I remember correctly! What a dumb nation we are! I doubt 'Balti' will never catch on in the Indian sub continent.

Sunny Sunday Afternoon

I decided to walk the two miles up to the village today, then realised how far uphill that was and took the bike instead. Dressed for October I discovered the sun thought it was August. Quite why it thought August was October it did not bother to explain, I find the weather is like that around here!

The 'Sunday drivers' were out today. I discovered how thick the paint on several cars happened to be as I zigzagged my way west. The jacket I wore was excellent at keeping the chill of the wind, noticeable when going down the hill at 12 miles an hour, and even better at keeping the heat in when struggling up the other side and just over snails pace per hour. All part of my weight loss programme I lied to myself. Naturally, the one set of traffic lights in the vicinity decide to change to red just when my old velocipede and I arrive there. It must be said I had by this time no reason to apply brakes! As my foot hit the ground, and I looked all around me to see no vehicles in sight, the lights change and off I start, bouncing over the holes that are never filled in and just avoiding a car that appeared from nowhere!

I noted the one Indian restaurant in the place and wondered if there was any part of the UK, or the British isles at that, which do not contain at least one of these places? The British these days live on Indian or Chinese takeaways. Curry, in it's many forms has become the number one dish among the populace. So much so that some restaurateurs make fools out of us. One enterprising chap, in Sheffield I believe, decided to start selling 'Balti Curry,' and it became a national dish. years later I discovered that 'Balti' simply means 'Bucket!' Most of the folks here remain in peaceful ignorance of this, not that they would care if told of course.

Further up I passed the typical English village pub, into which I have never ventured, and noticed folks sitting at the tables outside, something never done in Scotland. I found this strange when I ventured south in days of yore, as Scots pubs had frosted glass windows and severely closed doors. As kids we would attempt to peer through the cracks and work out what was happening until some gent informed us of our need for a belting! Down south people regularly stood around outside drinking, I was amazed! Of course, a form of Calvinism and the ten degrees of colder, much colder, weather were the reasons behind this. Keep the drinking hidden and keep the drinkers warm being the order of the day. The drunks seen on the streets in all towns and cities were of course seen there in the past. However it had not become a media story, and most of the media were in the middle of it then anyway. I suspect they still are. One pretty lady lounging at the table did glance in my direction. Failing to interpret my look as 'Give us a drink luv,' she instead gave me a look mixed with ridicule and contempt, mostly contempt. This, along with her large half filled cider glass, her blond hair and scowl, reminded me of two others of my acquaintance, both up north and probably indulging in similar activities as I went on my merry (?) way.

In the course of time I reached my objective and headed for the old railway line. I hesitated as I approached as I noticed it was very busy with cyclists pedalling past and Essex girls pushing prams. (Are you sure you are 16 dear?) However I joined them and began the lovely slow (If the brakes work) descent homewards. I say slow but was fascinated by the number of men, often in their forties, who were pedalling furiously downhill! These nutters have a need to wear shorts when on a bike, the English have this abnormal desire for wearing shorts, if the sun shines get out the shorts even if it is freezing, they reckon if the sun is out it is warm! Something not right with such folk I say. However, while they exercise at speed I meander along, enjoying the birdies singing, the sun dappling the trees, "Praise God for dappled things", the dogs ignoring everything bar the smells found around them, and the pretty girls doing their best to ignore me as I pass. Lovely all round I say as I talk to myself on the journey.

Naturally I now sit here with aching muscles slowly stiffening while I wonder how a short time ago I had little problem cycling up and down these slopes, especially the down ones. Soon I will have to choose between walking outside to ease the knees or stuffing my fat face with whatever I can find in my neighbours dustbins and call it 'curry.' I think I know what will win, and it will not have any cider to go with it.